The panic happens all too frequently. I’ve lived with it my whole life, the root of it going all the way back to when I was a very small child.
I’m sure it began that first time she walked out the door, me searching a whole block that felt as big as the whole world, when I realized life wasn’t safe, even though I couldn’t grasp that concrete thought and articulate those words. Life. Is. Not. Safe.
The fear was reinforced when she would disappear again and again, when she couldn’t face her own life, stress, mess, when she was angry at him so she couldn’t look at me because I am too much like him.
Then he died and in my anger I killed God. The fear took on a whole new level. I couldn’t leave home. If I left home surely the rest of them would die and I would be completely, utterly alone. I clung to her despite her flaws because she was the only parent I had left.
Five years later I managed to leave home. I entered the safety of the USAF with all its regulations and order. But there was no safety or order in my house. I married him and he turned out to be unsafe too. I ran out the door everyday, relieved to go to a safe place, only to be terrified to return to that house at the end of my shift, wishing I could just run away.
Even when I made him leave for good, I wasn’t safe. He called, harassed, followed. No place was safe. When he broke into my house that morning, I thought I was going to die, literally.
They transferred me to a base in Spain. Then I crashed. Hard. High octane adrenalin finally ran out. It was the worst depression to hit me since he died 10 years earlier. I drank to feel better. Everyday. For 6 months. The boy safely in her care at home in the states because I couldn’t even take care of me.
When a person is bombarded with this much stress, it’s easy to see why there is panic, anxiety, depression. But when everything is good?
I think too many years of unsafe broke a valve in my brain, the one that regulates the neurotransmitters. The smallest stress sends my brain into hyperdrive and before I can say Bob’s your uncle, I’m having a panic attack over nothing.
My life has been war. I’m still trying to recover.
His… Michelle
Philippians1:20
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Micey,
Have been catching up on your last couple posts.
I really like how your platform looks now…though I think you changed it awhile ago…I remember the words of bloggers more than the layout…anyway…I’m praying for you friend. I think you are really brave. These re-occurring demons in our heads, do we give them voice, and if so, for what purpose? To validate to others? To validate to ourselves? To illuminate the vague inky mist that circles around in our brain that only suggests something is wrong, to hit on the truth of what really is going on? I think it’s all three. It’s a romantic rainy Saturday morning with NO kids and I find myself picking a fight with my husband see-sawing between panic attack triggers, and anger, and guilt. “Its all in mind” I know. But what now? I talk it out. I pray, and then I have this urge to write it out, online! So weird if you think about it! And yet we do, and in some inexplicable way, it helps.
Cheers,
Leah
Yes Leah. It’s therapeutic. It’s a release of pent up craziness that threatens to make my head explode. It’s so others will know they are not alone. I pray the Lord’s peace for all of us who struggle with the brain demons.
Finding you here, reading just a small part of your life story – tells me that a woman of your experience and such great strength has much to share with not only other women but all who are grasping for a lifeline. God has purpose for allowing such circumstances in your life. Praise Him for you, dear sister! May He bless and guide your every moment.
Thank you so much Tammi!